FANTASTIC PLANET v2.0 (15 page)

He laughed
wryly at his own joke and continued:

'It'd be no
mean feat and would take time. You'd only manage to drag over useless carcasses
with rotting muscles.'

'But why
remain fixated on the bossks? This place is full of gigantic animals. I guess
the phenomenon would be the same.'

'And the problem too.
I...'

'Cervuses!'

'Yes,
killing and transporting them would be easier. But you'd spend much too long
plugging their muscles in series, and by the time you'd need the power,
putrefaction would have set in and you'd need to start all over again... It
wasn't a bad idea, but on two conditions:

Using a large number of animals, and using them alive, which would pose
insoluble issues at such short notice.
We'd need
stables as well as finding a way of keeping the animals still and feeding them.
Oh dear! It'd be faster to make turbines or to build solar panels.'

'Not enough
equipment!' the Aedile said sombrely. 'The plan only anticipated a 50,000
units
debit.'

Sav
scratched his forehead.

'Unless...'

'Yes?'

if
we come under attack, how many Oms would we need?'

if
we had weapons we'd need as many Oms, but we haven't got anything. The Oms
would be a burden and become targets. They'd be useless with their bare hands
and only a few hundred would be needed to man the transmitter and watchtowers.
It'd be a fully defensive war.

Sav took the
Aedile's bicep in his hand and rubbing it informally he said:

'Do you know
how much this arm can give off?'

i
once knew, can you remind me?'

Sav smiled.

'Roughly 5 thousandth of a unit.'

Terr freed
his arm sullenly and shrugged his shoulders. But Sav looked proudly at the
Council members and proclaimed:

'Given four
muscles per Om, one gets 20 thousandth for each Om. With two million Oms, in
other words eight million muscles, I now have a free supply of 40.000 units, in
other words 10,000 more than what we require!'

Everyone
remained silent. Terr broke the ice.

‘It's
crazy!'

'Not as
crazy as your bossk idea! I'd say much less in fact.'

The evidence
was there, backed up by figures. But the plan seemed so absurd that all were
surprised at not being able to brush it aside with a single argument.

'We'd need
tons of...'

'Of what?'
Sav interrupted. 'I'll tell
you what's needed: wires and needles. Check in the supplies if you have
everything we need. Give me a few transformers and I'll do the rest.

He then went
into a rage:

'Dammit!
It's so important we shouldn't even
hesitate
dismantling half of what is already set up to find the necessary equipment.'

The sphere was flying through
the night. It took ten long hours to cross the ocean, and a further three hours
before arriving in Klud.

When the
Traag pilot saw the lights coming from A South's capital city, he kept a close
eye on the dashboard and waited for the two mauve lines undulating on the
screen to merge together before letting the craft descend vertically. The
sphere landed gently in the spherodrome.

The pilot
opened the sphere and jumped on the ground. Headlights were heading towards
him. He crouched down like a trapped criminal and ran. His hurried flabby steps
shook the tarmac.

To his left
more headlights broke through the night, blinding the fugitive. He turned
around and changed direction but tired and realising he could not succeed he
stood still and waited for the police cars to reach him.

Voices
called out:

'Don't
move,
our ray launchers are aimed at you!'

The cars
stopped nearby and five Traags wearing metallic armbands reached the illegal
pilot in seconds.

'Follow us!'

The culprit
kept a proud demeanour.

'By law I
demand to appear right away before the spherodrome chief of police.'

'Well, well,
fancy that! This citizen knows the law!'

'Get into
the car and wait for us to question you. Chain him up!'

'You'll
regret manhandling me.'

'Who said
anything about manhandling? Shut up, get it?'

'Sarev, it's
the sphere that was stolen in Torm.' 'Are you sure?'

‘It's got
the same number plate.'

'Put the
seals on it and tow it to the depot. Let's go!'

A few
minutes later the pilot was led into brightly lit premises. The Traag policemen
looked on severely. Seated behind a table, a Traag with a red and gold armband
began the questioning.
'Your name?'

'Are you the
spherodrome's head of police?' 'No, but I am ordering you to answer my
questions.'

'I refuse. I
must make a statement to the chief of police.'

The
policeman waved angrily and his red eyes lit up. He then suddenly calmed down.

i
don't care, after all', he said. 'You're only harming yourself. If you
want to rot in a cell for a few days before deciding to answer, that's up to
you.'

‘I know the
law', the prisoner proclaimed. 'You cannot refuse me to contact the chief of
police.'

'That is
absolutely correct! But not before you accept to give your name, age, status
and address. Not before tomorrow morning anyway. Do you really think we'd wake
up the chief of police in the middle of the night for a petty thief?'

The culprit
thought for a while and lost some of his haughtiness.

'Ok', he
said at last. 'My name is Xeb Liaer, twenty seven, naturalist working as a
research assistant at Torm University, A North. I acted in agreement with my
superior, Master Singh. I demand to speak to the chief of police so I may
contact the continent's First Councillor.'

'And what
were you up to in the sphere?'

'I have
nothing more to say to you, except this: it is very urgent you do as I tell
you. It is for you to face up to your responsibilities.'

Later that
morning, the A South First Councillor received a message from the chief of
police. It was about a lunatic pretending to be commissioned by Master Singh
and the theft of a sphere. The First Councillor did not understand.
Nevertheless, the name Master Singh heated up his eardrums and, wanting to be
clear in his own mind, he gave the order to obey the lunatic and bring him to
the palace. He put aside a five minutes audience in the afternoon.

The
lunatic's pseudo-revelations, his demands and his arrogant manner sent the
First Councillor into a fit of anger. He sent the delinquent back to the cells
until he had more information but, just to be sure, he sent a message to the
North
A
First Councillor.

The latter
received the message the following morning. As soon as he had a spare moment he
contacted Master Singh. When he understood what it was all about, the old
scholar gave a sigh of relief.

‘I thought
something dreadful might already have happened', he said.

The First
Councillor choked: 'What? You admit the Traag was following your orders! But
that's insane! Come and see me without delay, Master Singh. 1
am
waiting for you at the Palace.'

'I'm only too
pleased, First councillor. I'll be with you in a moment.'

***

The
explanations were stormy. The First Councillor invoked the law. The Master
answered that he only followed the law when it was not absurd.

'Listen
Master Singh, think about it. You know private flights are forbidden in the
night, particularly intercontinental flights! You know that a trip to the Wild
Continent requires vaccinations and special authorisations. The height of folly
is you stealing a State sphere! This is more than a simple infringement, it is
a felony! Are you aware you violated a whole series of edicts, regulations,
and...'

'I am not
denying it, First Councillor. In fact I am

quite
proud of it.'

'What?'

'Certainly.
You talk to me of regulations
when our whole civilisation is at stake. The young Traag brings back alarming
information about the Oms' progress and all you can think about is regulations!
Out of the two of us, who is mad? I know the Council made fun of me. I thus
carried out my own investigation, because I am sure I am right. Klud's First
Councillor had a good laugh when he found the three metal sheets cut in the
shape of fish. He did not understand it was a stratagem. I still believe the
Oms have built ships. In fact I have evidence. Yesterday we salvaged the remains
of a submersible from a beach in A South. Part of a hull filled with water
floated along the Siwo all the way to the equator and...'

The First
Councillor raged:

'Enough of your Om stories!'

'Really?
If you keep ignoring stories about the Oms, it
will backfire on you soon enough, but you will have brought it on yourself. 1
demand
that the Council takes a look while at the fiximages
my assistant brought back.'

'You're
dreaming!'

'I would
like to. Did you even bother to ask for further details from your A south
colleague? Have the fiximages been developed?'

'The sphere
is under seals.'

The old man
let out a sigh and folded back his membranes despondently.

'When I
think that my assistant spoke of ten thousand Oms and you're here brooding over
petty grievances without...'

'The
figure's exaggeration shows its lack of significance! But prior to discussing
the expedition's doubtful results, its illegality must be addressed. You're
going about things the wrong way.'

The Master
stood up, driven by a terrible rage.

i
see nothing can convince you that we are threatened by a grave danger. I
will thus go about it a different way. I am Master Singh, and you must accede
to my modest request. Grant me an official authorisation to fly at night. I am
leaving for Klud immediately. I don't care if you are a First Councillor, and
the law allows me to act with equal authority with the A South First
Councillor. I will demand to see my assistant. I will insist on a scientific
report in all the papers. A scientific report! Do you hear me? The newspapers
cannot "legally" oppose it. But the content will be such that the
people will flare up. A terrible fear will grip the Traags, frightful but
beneficial! We will then see if public opinion will not force you to call a
Council meeting within two days! You're always going on about laws, now you'll
see how I know how to use them! Your position is at stake, First Councillor. I
do apologise for going to such extremes.'

Oms were lined up along
endless underground corridors as if they were dead, males and females alongside
each other.

At the
junctions, great golden fires were burning, warming up the air and filling the
vaults with smoke. The crackling and sighs of the brushwood tortured by the
flames, the dancing black figures stoking the inferno, the tormented archways:
all evoked hell as they blended with the long rows of living corpses forming
endless chains around the rooms, populating ledges and bridges hanging above
the abyss.

The city
looked like a huge necropolis where each was waiting for his turn to be
incinerated. Naked, the Oms were lying on their back. Their arms and legs were
pierced with needles which pumped the current from their muscles. They were
linked to each other by metal wires and had been suffering in silence for
hours.

At first the
holes made by the needles had been bearable. But little by little the foreign
metal burnt the flesh. Limbs were twisted with cramps, reducing the huge
batteries' output.

Doctors were
running through the corridors giving advice, good words and the occasional
painkiller to alleviate the suffering. Some leant over tight muscles, massaging
them gently to ease their stiffness. Others pulled out the needles, freeing
those whose wounds had become infected despites all precautions. Heroically,
some refused to give up their place.

Occasional
trembling sighs and groans could be heard...
"Drink!"
Carts pushed by diligent and overworked arms trundled along from Om to Om
giving out a meagre sustenance. The whole electrical installation had to be
dismantled and a few loudspeakers had been kept in place for the morale,
letting out the occasional official word of encouragement.

Two million
citizens thus sacrificed themselves to the common cause in a great holocaust.
They were giving their galvanic fluid in the same way one donates blood.
Dripping unit by unit, the energy gathered and ran along wires into
accumulators powered by batteries and hydraulic turbines, forming the
electrical build-up necessary to defend the city.